At dawn, along a rugged mountain path, a young monk—Tripitaka—rode swiftly on horseback.
One hand gripped the reins, the other held a golden staff. His broad kasaya billowed in the wind, and the tall white horse beneath him tossed its mane fiercely.
His galloping momentum was like that of a mighty general charging into battle.
Unlike ordinary wandering monks, he was young, with handsome features and piercing eyes fixed ahead—resolute and bold. His face showed no hint of joy or anger; unlike other monks with kindly brows and gentle eyes, he possessed an indescribable, unwavering will.
“This is the Five Elements Mountain.” He tightened the reins, and the white horse abruptly halted, stamping its hooves on the spot.
His gaze began to search the mountain.
“Who’s there?” In a rarely trodden part of the mountain, a furry hand suddenly reached out from the grass. Pushing aside the weeds, the Monkey King's head, covered in dry grass, appeared.
“Ptui.”
Spitting out two stalks of wild grass, the Monkey King took a deep breath and bellowed with all his might: “Disturbing my dreams! Get lost—!”
The Monkey King's roar echoed endlessly across the vast wilderness.
“Over there?” Tripitaka followed the sound and urged his white horse forward.
Soon, Tripitaka and the Monkey King met face to face.
At the sight of the Monkey King, Tripitaka smiled. At the sight of Tripitaka, the Monkey King also smiled—but his was a cold, mocking smile.
“So, it’s you?” The Monkey King recognized the monk’s robes and already knew who he was—and even his purpose. History always changes, yet is eerily similar.
The Monkey King's once-lazy expression twisted into a cold sneer. “Why are you here? Want me to go fetch the scriptures from the West?”
Tripitaka said nothing. Leaning on his staff, he climbed nimbly up the rocky slope, his movements deft and sure.
“Go back. You were the ones who imprisoned me, and now you want to release me. What’s this nonsense about fetching scriptures and attaining Buddhahood? Who do you take me for?” With that, the Monkey King let out a wild, cackling laugh, baring his sharp teeth with a touch of madness.
“Why persist?” Tripitaka sighed, yet did not stop climbing. “Do you intend to remain trapped here for another five hundred years?”
“Even if I’m trapped for ten thousand years, it’s my own business. What does it have to do with you, bald donkey?” The Monkey King fumbled around with his only free hand, searching for a stone to throw, but after five hundred years, he’d long since tossed every pebble nearby out of boredom. Now, all he could find was a handful of dirt.
Dirt will do! The Monkey King flung it at him. “Get lost!”